Self Portrait
by Rezzison
Summary: She was a painter, cast out by those she loved. He was a masked man, scorned by the one he had loved. In rich, sensuous Venice, can they grow to love each other? And will his past ruin everything? ALW And Kay influence


_Good Mornin', Everybody! This is the first story that Arty and I have been able to write, and I am tickled to be the one to post this. Hope you enjoy the labors of our fruits! Er... fruits of our labors...

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**_Chapter One_**

I looked up at the front of the house, making sure this was the right place. If I didn't need the money so badly, I wouldn't be here in a million years. But there wasn't much demand for a female artist, not even in Venice. And a job of the magnitude that my prospective employer was speaking of would keep me fed and housed for a year. I took a deep breath, shifted the canvas under my arm, and opened the door.

I stepped into a hall, closing the door quietly behind me. The sound of it shutting made me realize the stupidity of the agreement. If I left now though, I could go back to...back to where? I couldn't go home. Not after so much time...

I walked down the hallway, carefully inspecting the wooden walls as I made my way. It was a beautifully made house, even by Venetian standards. But even so, she could see why the owner wanted some paintings. The walls seemed bare, and the house had a distinct feeling of abandonment. The canvas under my arm seemed to itch to go on the wall, though I couldn't put it there until I was hired. Hearing a small noise behind me, I turned around quickly.  
A Siamese cat had been following me. I bent to pick it up, but it arched its back and hissed at me. It glared for a moment before turning and racing down the hall to leap into a pair of arms. I lifted my eyes to those of the man whom was holding the cat. He was deathly pale. Strange though, that the last thing I noticed was his mask. Or perhaps not so strange. This was Venice, after all.

The man's lips curved upward. "I assume you're the artist I sent for." He had a voice colder than ice. I was at a lost for words for only a second.

"Of course. I'm Sienna Fausta. You must be Erik Marlin. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Pleased?" He found some amusement in that. "Well, I daresay you'll change your mind."

My brow furrowed in confusion. What was that supposed to mean?

I ignored his words, after a moment of deliberation. "I suppose you'd like to see the sample painting I brought you. Unless, of course, you prefer to trade pleasantries while standing a good three meters away from me. If so, by all means, let's continue."

His eyes narrowed and he turned and motioned for me to follow him. I belatedly wondered if I had insulted him as I mentally berated myself. This was the first job I had been offered since I had become an artist-I needed this job. My landlord was about ready to throw me out, and I was currently on a very sparse diet. The amount of money he was offering me to paint murals on all of his walls, do some simple sculpture, and keep my mouth shut about all I did was amazing.

He turned and led me into a small room. The only pieces of furniture that it contained were a desk and a small piano, and as I handed him my painting, my eyes never left the piano. My father had taught me how to play when I was a child. I brushed my fingers along the keys and began to play the music that was sitting on top of it. "What raging fire shall flood the soul, what rich desire-" Only to have the piano lid slammed shut, nearly crushing my fingers. I turned around to find Erik standing alarmingly close to me.

"I would appreciate it if you kept your hands off of my piano, unless instructed otherwise."

"I was just- "

"Mademoiselle, we have much to discuss, do we not? Come with me into the study." With that, he turned and stalked off to a door.

I followed him quietly, everything telling me that I should get out of there as fast as I could, but, I rationalized, if he had been able to slam that so suddenly, I surely would not be able to run from him. And something told me that I didn't want to leave. Not really, anyway. Plus, there wasn't anywhere to leave to.

I went into the study. I shut the door quietly behind me, as is my habit.  
Erik was inspecting my work, seated at a large mahogany desk. I sat on a stool that was placed in a corner, instead of the imposing chair situated next to the desk. His face remained impassive for a moment, before a corner of his mouth curved upwards.

He was smirking, quite arrogantly at my painting! How dare he! As if he could do any better! I fumed for a few minutes and would have fumed more on this if he hadn't have begun to speak.

"This is rather good Mademoiselle. I believe you're hired." I could do nothing but blink in amazement for a moment. Had he not been smirking just a second ago?

"I'm hired?" He looked at me for a second, probably thinking that I had to be quite dense not to have heard him. Either that or I hadn't been listening. And in all honesty I hadn't been, but that was something he didn't need to know.

My employer gave me a piercing look. "There's no need to repeat anything I say, I assure you that I rarely lie. And if I were lying to you, it wouldn't be about something as trivial as this."

Blushing furiously I replied, "Of course."

"I have ample painting supplies here for you, Mademoiselle." He smirked again, and I bowed my head.

"Before I start, sir, there is one thing I would like to know." He paused, in the process of extracting himself from his desk.

"Yes?"

"What would you have me call you?" I knew from various small jobs I had done that eccentric art lovers, which my employer seemed to be, were very easily offended.

A strange expression took over his face, but only momentarily. With his usual coldness he replied, "I would have you call me Erik."

"Erik." I smiled. "And where, Erik, might I find these supplies?" He took out a piece of paper and drew me a small map of his home, telling me, as he drew, where he would like his murals painted. Unsurprisingly, he wanted nothing done near the room with the piano in it. He handed me the map.

I smiled. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate the work." Then I scuttled out of the study.  
Once I was out in the hallway, I felt as though I could breathe again. I looked at the map he had drawn me, and began toward the supply room. I passed the room with the piano, and was tempted to go and play a while longer. I hadn't been near a piano since I had left my father's home. But I had to get to work, and I was fearful of what might happen if Erik caught me playing that piece of music again.

I found the closet in which my supplies had been stored, and gasped. The materials were the finest I had seen ever. And that was saying something, considering the people I had studied under. "Oh Glory." I whispered, awed.

I reached out to touch one of the brushes. It was fine, the bristles soft. I found that I could not wait to begin painting. First things first though, I needed to find the wall I would paint first and then decide what to paint. Sketched of each mural I would have approved by Erik before I even touched the paints.

I first took off down the hall to inspect each room I was to paint. I started with the one nearest the closet. It appeared to be a spare bedroom, with light paneled walls, but with a beautiful dark ceiling and floor. I could already see a forest in here, with its odd beauty. I used a small pencil I carried with me continuously to write the word "forest" on the room.

I smiled eagerly and headed towards the next wall that Erik had wanted painted. I opened the door to the next room and ran straight into a maid, sending her and her tray of tea to the floor. I hastily helped the old woman up, apologizing for being so clumsy and she smiled at me fondly.

"Don't worry about it dearie. It's not like Master Erik eats much anyway." She cackled.

"Is that why he is so thin?" I asked, bending down to pick up a few pieces of shattered porcelain. "Is it because he doesn't eat?"

She nodded. "Auntie Mae is always telling him to eat more, but he ignores me. Ah, but he was a thin one, even when he first came here."

"Has he been here long?" I asked, hoping I wasn't being too obvious in my search for information. My curiosity would wind up killing me someday.

"The Master? No, he 'asn't been here for more than a year. He was half-mad when he came. The worst rages he threw! Threw a piano out a window of his old house."

"A piano!" I cried, my concern being mostly for the piano. "But wait.. he's mad!" Oh, what a fine mess I'd gotten myself into.

"Oh, no! The Master's not mad now! He's gotten better than when he first got here. He has a few fits, but when he does he just locks himself in the room with the piano. Never touches the darn thing, but I think it does him good to see it."

My mind returned to the composition that sat on top of the piano. This made no sense. Those pieces of music seemed like they had been put there only moments ago. "He doesn't play?"

She nodded. "Never heard a sound out of it, unless he's tuning it. Keeps the thing in tip-top shape, he does."

"But...why?" I frowned thoughtfully, picking up the last teacake from where it had fallen. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to work..."

"Wait, dearie." She said, in an urgent whisper.

"Yes?" I asked, curious.

"Dearie, don't ask about the mask."

"But why would I?" I smiled, thinking it a joke. "This is Venice. Everyone wears a mask!"

Auntie Mae shook her head. "Master Erik has some friends in very high places. He wears the mask year round, when it's not legal to do such a thing."

"Why?" I demanded, fear combining with my curiosity...He could be a murderer! "What is he hiding!"

The old maid picked herself up. "You should be getting to work, young mistress. Master Erik doesn't like to be kept waiting."

I nodded, fearing for my life. It was a wonder that I hadn't run from his home. I, shaking in my boots, turned and walked away from the maid as quickly as I could. I turned several times before realizing that I had dropped my map.

After uttering an unladylike curse, I doubled back to get it.

I stopped suddenly, listening. An amazing, ethereal voice beckoned me forward. I was helpless to resist. I recognized the melody that Erik was singing. It was the same song that had nearly cost me my fingers.

I crept forward.

There was a picture of a woman in front of Erik. No, not a woman. A girl. Erik glanced up at it, and then stopped playing. With a bang, he closed the lid of the piano. I winced, hearing the sound of splintering wood.

He grabbed the drawing as though he would have gladly ripped it in two. A broken sob escaped him and he ran a finger along the blonde curls, as though he could touch them. He, suddenly disgusted with himself, thrust the drawing away.

I crept away, feeling as though I had seen something I shouldn't have.

But two thoughts prevailed in my mind, as I walk away. Firstly, who was that girl? Secondly, how on earth was I to work for a madman?

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